


cast shadows

by esama



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: The memories are like shreds of smoke and wisps of fog, barely even there. Modesty screaming and Chastity sobbing and then a flash – Mother dead at his feet, her eyes wide and skin pale, dark streaks on her cold face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed

The memories are still like shreds of smoke and whips of fog, barely even there. Modesty screaming and Chastity sobbing and then a flash – Mother dead at his feet, her eyes wide and skin pale, dark streaks on her cold face. It all happened so fast. Credence doesn't remember what he did after, though Chastity tells later – he ushered them out of the room, bundled them up in blankets, he even made them hot chocolate, all the while shushing their tears. He doesn't remember a bit of it.

He remembers the next day. Waking up curled around his sisters, with Modesty's head tucked under his chin, Chastity pressed to his side, all of them shivering. It was cold, and dark – no candles lit, no lanterns, no fire in the oven. The whole church had rang hollow and empty, less like a house or even a building and more like a cave.

He'd gently untangled himself from his sister's sleeping forms, gotten the blankets and spread over them to keep them warm. Then he'd gotten up and gone to see and there…

There she was.

Dead on the floor, her eyes still wide, her skin still pale, dark streaks on her even colder face. And he knew then, though he couldn't remember, that he'd done it – somehow, he'd done it.

Somehow, without so much as touching her, he'd killed Mother.

* * *

 

"Blood poisoning, looks like," says the doctor the police brought with them, touching Mother's cold face. "Yes, there is no question about it. I expect she scraped herself on a rusty nail or something of the sort – certainly no lack of them, old building like this."

Credence watches on nervously, his aching hands clutched onto tight, painful fists, his heart pounding, but no, there are no accusations, no fingers pointed. No one looks at him and sneers _Witch_ at him and no one blames him.

"You have my deepest condolences, lad," the police say and shake his hand – make faces at the cuts there, press their lips together. "Now do you have anyone to help you with the aftermath? Burial and will and such?"

"No, sir, no one," Credence says with a swallow. "It – it was only ever us and Ma, we don't have no other family."

"I suspected so," the police says, looking on with great sympathy. "How are your sister's taking it?"

Chastity is pale ghost of herself, and she doesn't stand as straight anymore. Her shoulders have eased down and her face doesn't have that old, pinched look on it that made it seem so tight, so forced. She doesn't speak to him, only nods or shakes her head in answer to anything he might say, but when she walks, she makes noise again.

Modesty, when she's awake, won't leave her side, clutching to her hand like afraid of getting lost. If Chastity isn't there, she latches onto Credence instead, her grip tight enough to hurt. She hasn't smiled or laughed since, and she's terrified, but not of her siblings.

Neither go upstairs anymore, neither want to go to the hall where Mother died.

"They'll be alright," Credence says and looks down. Her body is being lifted onto a gurney, to be carried to the hearse, to be taken away. "They're spooked, but they'll be alright."

"Will they be alright by themselves for a little while, if you come with us to the station?" the officer asks. "We'll get you started in on all the preparations, ease your way a little.

He asks. Chastity doesn't answer but she nods and Modesty, who is sitting by the long table down in the church, looks up from her drawing to nod as well. It's about as good an answer as he can expect.

"I'll be back soon. Lock the door and don't let anyone in, alright?" he says, because the world is suddenly bigger and scarier outside the church and he can't fathom the sudden anxiety he feels over it, over them, getting lost out there.

He goes with the police and they do all the paperwork they can. He gets the death certificates from the coroner and in the end Detective Jacob even gets him a word with a lawyer which then gets him the will from the bank. It's short and simple, leaving everything one Mary Lou Barebone had to her children. Credence now owns one third of the church.

"Doesn't look like she had much in way of money," the lawyer says and peers at him. "You'll be expected to take care of your sisters now. Think you can manage it?"

Credence looks over the bank statements, his hands shaking a little. "We'll make do," Credence says finally because they would have to now, wouldn't they.

* * *

 

Mother is buried week later. It's a dim day with clouds hanging low over New York. There are surprisingly many people in attendance, Second Salemers all of them, and they all offer their heart felt condolences over the loss of such a powerful, striking woman. A true leader, they say, her loss would be the loss of the world.

"So have you thought about what comes next?" one of them asks, a portly man Credence remembers from many meetings, a man who suspects his wife is a witch judging by what Credence had heard him talk about with Mother. "About the meetings and such?"

Credence stares at him, one hand on Modesty's hand, other on Chastity's back. They look at him as well, so do other people. Expecting him to make a decision of the New Salem Philanthropic Society on the spot.

He had made that decision before Mother's dead body had hit the floor at his feet, he thinks, because it was always only her cause. Her madness too, he thinks, an obsession that had poisoned her over the years and turned her into a woman who would turn a belt on her six year old daughter.

But it has been a week now. Week of staring at bank statement, eying up the pantry, trying to make sense of the numbers. Somehow Mother had not only kept her family fed, but most of the children in the neighbourhood too, and Credence's not entirely sure how, now.

The church had always lived by faith and prayer, they all always knew that – donations from more vehement supporters of the New Salem Philanthropic Society, mostly, and the occasional bit of fundraising which really always looked more like begging to Credence. But somehow it had been enough for them to live.

Without it…

His hand tightens on Modesty's. "No," Credence says. "I hadn't thought about it yet."

"Well, it's something you might want to consider," the portly man says and claps his shoulders. "No one knew your Mother's cause better than you. You have mighty big shoes to fill, young man, and we're all looking forward to what you might do with them."

Credence nods and turns and after few more well wishes and questions about next meetings, he leads his sister's away.

"Will there be meetings?" Modesty asks carefully.

Credence shakes his head, but doesn't answer.

* * *

 

When Credence was much younger, when he was no older than nine, he'd been good at the fund raising. Mother used to take him to stand in street corners with leaflets and signs and he'd say, very earnest, "Please, sir, won't you help us feed the neighbourhood children?"

It had worked very well too, he recalls it clearly enough. People always liked to put pennies into his cup and pat his head, telling him what good boy he was. He has a picture of himself from back then too, and he knows why it did work. He'd had the same hair cut, the same expression, the same posture. He'd always been a sad little boy.

It had stopped working when he'd grown older, grown bigger – grown taller than Mother and stopped looking quite so precious. After that, there was Chastity with her curls and her smile, still radiant then. She'd been so happy to have a family, to not be on the street and cold, she'd done everything Mother had wanted her to. She'd been the perfect little messenger, asking people to please spare a penny for a good cause, smiling prettily at them when they did.

And then she grew up bigger, and then there was Modesty – but Modesty wasn't quite so eager to please. She was older than Chastity had been when she'd been adopted and she still remembers her family – still wants to go back with them. Unlike Chastity, she's not quite so precious and sweet – she's sullen and grim and doesn't much like people.

Maybe that's why Mother had been so mad.

Not that it matters now.

* * *

 

Credence hesitates over the printing machines, the stacks of leaflets still sitting on the end of the table. _WITCHES LIVE AMONG US_ the top one proclaims, with a picture of naked women dancing around a fire. It was one of their more popular leaflets – people had even told them to make more like them, with pictures like that.

"We're not going to continue it, right?" Chastity asks behind him and the sound of her voice is almost foreign, it's been so long since she's spoken to him.

"We need money," Credence says, his hands twisting into fists. "I tried looking for a job, Chastity, but no one will have me. I've never been to school, I don't have any sort of diploma from anywhere… and all jobs that don't need one are taken. We have to do something if we want to keep eating."

Chastity comes closer, and together they stand over the presses. "But you're a witch," she says.

Credence bows his head. They haven't talked about it, Modesty hasn't mentioned anything and of course Chastity hasn't been talking at all – he wasn't sure what they remembered. He isn't sure himself what he remembers – even now it's all a blur. "What did you see, Chastity?" he asks, his voice choked.

"Black mist," she says. "You turned into black mist, and Mother died. That's what I saw."

Credence breathes out slowly – he doesn't remember that, but he knows… he knows about it. The blackness inside him. It's always been there, he thinks. Or at least… it's been there since the _other thing_ stopped being there.

"You can't run the New Salem Philanthropic Society when you're a witch yourself, Credence," Chastity says and shakes her head. "That isn't right."

"I don't know what else to do, Chastity," Credence says and looks at her. She's fourteen, she doesn't quite get it yet. "And we have to do something. Or do you want to starve?"

"No," she says and frowns. "Can't we… can't we do what we did before, just without the New Salem Philanthropic Society?"

* * *

 

They use the materials they have still left to make new leaflets. These ones are only about feeding the neighbourhood children – something they haven't been doing since mother died, as Credence hasn't dared to spend the money. Chastity and Modesty design the new leaflets while Credence puzzles over how to do the whole thing. He's not sure how Mother had done it.

With sheer stubborn determination, probably. That's how she does everything.

"You need a haircut," Chastity says. "That one makes you look like a boy."

"It's too short to cut," Credence says, running his hand through his hair and he can't deny that he wants to cut it. It's always been the same, and while he'd been fine with it when he'd been younger… he's nineteen now. And he's heard people, kids, talk about it.

Freak Credence, look at his haircut, he looks like a baby.

"Get a haircut anyway," Chastity says.

So, Credence gets a haircut. The barber hems and haws over his hair and shakes his head – and then spends about a hour trimming it this way and that before assuring him that he absolutely _must_ get hair gel to push it back.

"There," the barber then says and shows him a mirror. "Handsome young man under all of that nonsense. Now keep it nice and trim or let it grow out a bit, it won't ruin the look."

He looks decisively _strange_ with his hair no longer so uniform. Pushed back and held there with gel, he looks less like a lost little boy and more like a man. Maybe, with better suit of clothes, he'd even feel like one. In the end Credence dares to waste bit of their dwindling money on the gel, though it makes him feel guilty.

The look Chastity gives him tells him it's well worth it.

* * *

 

They leave behind the name of the Second Salem Church, and become simply the Pike Street Church. At first they go around like they used to, handing out leaflets and asking for donations but that doesn't work as well without clear cause and meetings – so in the end, Credence goes to the stores mother used to buy grain and such in bulk.

"You continuing your Mother's nonsense, then?" the owner of the first store asks while peering at him suspiciously.

"Not as such, sir," Credence says, as earnest and polite as he can manage. "New Salem Philanthropic Society can rest with her. But our church also does charity work with the local children and I was wondering… did you perhaps have arrangement with Mother?"

"Hm," the man says, looking him up and down. "She bought the leftovers for third of the price. That's the best deal I can give you."

"I'll take it," Credence says quickly. "Also, sir, I was hoping – if I might set up a donation jar here?"

"This ain't no charity, boy," the man scowls at him.

"No, sir, but the church is," Credence says and shows him the leaflets they'd made. "How about if you kept part of it?" he asks hopefully.

The man grunts but takes one of the leaflets, looking over. _HELP US HELP THE CHILDREN_ they now read, with image Chastity had drawn and Credence had carved on woodcut – some kids sitting on steps of the church, eating bread. On the inside there were listings of the usual meal times they had at the church before and the other things they used to do – offering lessons with numbers and the alphabet and so forth.

"No word of witchcraft here," the store owner notes.

"Well…" Credence trails off.

The man grunts and folds the leaflet. "Alright, we'll set up a jar for you," he says and peers at Credence. "But I'll be taking half of it."

"That's more than I could ever ask, thank you, sir," Credence says gratefully.

* * *

 

It's a bit of a hassle to get started again, after such a long break. They've set all the big pots aside and haven't really used the stove that much at all, so it's a bit intimidating at first. But running the kitchen is like second nature now, after so many years of doing it, and once they shake away they unease of doing it all without Mother, they manage it well enough.

Thankfully that first day, there isn't that many kids there – just some of the regulars, who all look a little worse for wear. Judging by the looks of it, they haven't had had much luck finding another place to get food from.

"We have some extra," Chastity says to Credence while pouring portions the food out for each child. "I think there might be enough for small seconds."

"Really?" one of the boys, William, asks hopefully.

"We'll see," Credence says with a frown and then looks over to another boy slightly younger than William. "James, are you limping?"

"My leg hurts, sir," the boy says pitifully and Credence shares a look with Chastity.

"I can handle it," she promises. "Take a look at it."

It was something Mother used to do, though not very often. If the children came to the church hurt, sometimes she'd take care of it – but then, sometimes she would just ignore it. While taking little James aside to check up on his foot, Credence promises to himself that they'd never ignore it from here on out.

"I'll take your shoe off, is that alright?" Credence asks as he helps the boy to sit. The kid nods and credence kneels by his feet to check the boy's foot – frowning slightly at his shoes. They're worn down, and the sole is all but _crumbling_. "You don't have other shoes?" Credence asks gently while easing the weathered old shoe, not only half destroyed but far too small for the boy, off the boy's foot.

"No sir," James says with a miserable look. "Is it – is it gangrene?"

Credence lifts hit foot and examines it. The boy has a cut on the bottom of his heel, and it looks red but not infected. His ankle, however, is black and blue and swollen. "You've fallen?" Credence asks.

"Tripped some stairs," James admits. "It was just the other day

"Hmm, well, it's sprained I think," Credence says. "Try and keep off it as much as you can and hopefully it will be good in few days. I'll get something for the cut, alright?"

Aside from James and his twisted ankle, the rest of the regulars are more or less fine, if a little thinner and dirtier than the last they'd seen them. Credence looks over them with a frown, feeling guilty for having ignored them for so long.

"Do we have to take leaflets again?" one of the boys asks, once he's done with his dinner.

"We don't hand out leaflets anymore," Credence says, wondering if he should offer them the chance to clean up in the church bathroom. "But we can try some letters once everyone's done eating if you'd like."

In the end, the whole thing goes fairly well. The kids eat, Chastity, Modesty and Credence taking their dinner with them, and afterwards Credence and Chastity run them through their alphabet and have them practicing the few words they can write. Somehow, though there are fewer kids than usually and they all look so much worse for wear, it's a most amiable gathering they'd had at the church for as long as anyone can remember.

* * *

 

The thing is still there, though. Sometimes, late at night when Chastity and Modesty are in bed and Credence is tidying up, he can feel it, almost even see it. It's like a shadow just at the corner of his eyes, always looming over him – but never there when he turns to face it.

Of course it's not there because it's inside him. The thing that had killed Mother. Magic, he thinks and runs a hand over his chest, where the hollowness aches the worst. Magic, because he's a witch, and witches have magic. It's even black, according to Chastity and Modesty.

He doesn't think it will ever go away.

And he doesn't know what he can do about it.

* * *

 

There's eventually more kids at the church, over the following weeks as they stretch over the months, coming to eat and learn their letters and occasionally wash up after a bad tumble in the mud. The atmosphere is different now than before – it's not so quiet. The kids laugh and sometimes play and Credence can't say he minds it. Modesty certainly doesn't, joining in as quick as she dares and if Chastity has any objections she doesn't voice them. She's still so quiet.

Mother's death still hands somewhere above them, in the house, in the corridor, in the place where Credence had left her dead.

But it's not felt among the neighbourhood kids – if anything, they shake the memory of her as fast as they can and Credence is graceful for it. Even if it makes harder to teach them their letters when they're so much rowdier now, it's nice, to have things be so lively.

They open the windows and let the light in on bright days. They replace the old signs and posters and Chastity makes a new cross-stitch, one that has A standing for Apple, rather than Adultery, and B for a Bell rather than Blasphemy. Sometimes  they sit by the end of the church, by the old unused altar, and Credence reads everyone stories – sometimes from the Bible. They don't have that many books at the church, after all.

He doesn't know who starts it. He thinks it starts out as a joke. But one day, little James looks up at him and says, "Father Credence," like it's nothing unusual.

"Yes?" Credence says, before he can think more of it.

And it sticks.


End file.
